What Goes Around
by Annelim
Summary: Very dark. Dorian gives in to his darker urges. He is willing to die to have Klaus. Only - is he really? More like first-volume Dorian. Dark.


Dorian's hips bucked on their own accord, pushing him up the quite large cock, then slammed down to the scraggly-soft pubic hairs. Other hips, below him, strong and lean, rose to meet him in wondrous tandem. So good, so hot, so perfect! He rode almost frantically now, feeling the pressure building, the one that would make him explode in just ... a ... few ... more ... thrusts!

With one hand he jerked himself off, hardly actually needing the extra stimuli, but greedily providing it anyway, pressing and squeezing and pulling, pulling, pulling. Timing his strokes to the thrusts in his arse. Loving every second. Hating it too.

With his other hand he caressed up and down his own body, pausing only for seconds here and there to pay attention to extra sensitive zones - nipples, navel, balls, throat - sometimes dipping behind himself to touch the shaft straining to split him, and the full balls beneath.

Mostly he kept his eyes shut, but now and then he couldn't help himself - he had to see.

He had always known himself unable to resist the sight before him. Klaus. Naked. Strong body glistening with sweat, almost as if oiled; muscles taut; neck bent back as the man fought both towards their pending release and the strong ropes binding him to the bed.

Yes, Dorian had always known himself unable to resist. And at long last - far longer than he ever could have dreamed himself capable of holding out - he had fallen. Like Lucifer, the light bringer, falling from Heaven. Irrevocably, undeniably - devastatingly.

Green eyes glittered with such intense hate that Dorian had never seen the like. Aimed towards him, even as the lids half closed with pleasure; even as the fine mouth opened in a silent scream; even as every muscle displayed before him seemed to quiver and the hips beneath him jerk so hard that he was pulled along and came over his hand, over the other man's heaving chest and over the exposed throat.

His own scream of completion echoed in the small room, but the surrounding building held no tenants, he had made sure of that. They both panted heavily, but he had been the only one to make any other sound, once the curses and threats had died out. That had been around Klaus's first orgasm. All in all, Dorian had preferred the curses and threats to the icy silence which had followed.

You stubborn boar, Dorian thought with affection. The orgasms wrung from Klaus's body proved that while Klaus might still be fighting his own primal response to Dorian's stimuli, he was losing the battle. A few times Klaus's lips had even parted in what Dorian hoped would be moans, but his jaws had stubbornly bit down, preventing any audible proof.

He stayed astride for a long while, until his hoarse breaths had calmed. Only when his sweat chilled did he dismount and lay down to share body heat with the man he loved. Slowly the head beside his own shifted. The man stared unblinkingly at him, eyes no longer dazed by the sex or ever so faintly softened by sensations. A hate so tangible that Dorian couldn't remain next to Klaus - besides, the arm trapped under him was uncomfortable, with the rough rope around the wrist rasping against his skin.

So he sat up. Lingering soreness in his arse after the violent pounding, felt delicious. He looked out through the window and saw a hint of spreading purple. Dawn neared. In an hour or two the Alphabet would realise that their bold commander hadn't joined them for breakfast - he, who was usually first to get up, demanding coffee. Soon they would brave his room, to check if he was busy on the phone - or if something had happened. And since something _had_ happened, they'd start looking. Not that they would find this house quickly - nothing tied it to Dorian. They were stubborn though and wouldn't give up. Not that this really mattered. Dorian had made a deal with himself - or perhaps with the devil, even if the gentleman in question hadn't acknowledged the offer.

Six hours. Midnight to dawn. A little longer, perhaps, as the actual abduction and getting to the house had taken a while, but Dorian had only stolen a few kisses on the way and, besides, Klaus had been unconscious at the time, so those didn't really count. Six hours. Six hours which were now up.

He considered things for a moment longer, then started dressing. His outfit for the new day was in loose silk, bright red as blood straight from the heart. That felt like an appropriate choice - considering.

The bedroom had an adequate mirror on one wall - he had admired the reflection of their joint bodies during the dark hours. Now he used it to brush out his hair carefully, until the curls fairly sparkled and took on a life of their own, caressing his face and shoulders. As he did he breathed in deeply, half intoxicated by the sex smell still lingering on his skin. Only afterwards, ready to face his destiny, did he turn back to the bed and the still, stiff figure on it.

Klaus's nicely sculpted torso moved slowly in restrained breath and his gaze burned with emotion. Other than that he might as well have been a statue. A beautiful statue. "Beauty Bound," Dorian might have called it. Dorian sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand slowly over the arm he had lain on. The warm muscles tensed under his fingers.

He then reached for the bedroom table. Klaus's clothes he had put on a chair, folding them carefully the way he had seen them earlier, when watching Klaus sleep. On the table, though, he had laid the Magnum. He took it now, gently - one hand on the handle and the other under the pipe. That was not a proper way to handle a gun - he knew that much, but he doubted that Klaus would lecture him about that. Not this day.

Bringing the weapon to him, he folded his hand around the handle, finding it strangely comfortable. Shaped to Klaus's fingers and palm, any rough edges softened by regular use, sweat, blood and oil. They had more or less the same hand size, so his fingers filled the custom-made grip. That was ... fitting. He almost smiled at his own, silly pun. He didn't, though, because it hadn't been funny, not really.

He looked towards Klaus again. There was something new in the gaze he now received. Mixed with the hate was something else - speculation? Worry? Surely Klaus couldn't think that Dorian intended to hurt _him_? Dorian considered assuring Klaus of that, but then decided that it didn't matter. He didn't want to argue. Not now. Better that the last thing he heard from Klaus's lips had been the quiet gasps of pleasure that not even Iron Klaus had been able to contain.

He let go of the pipe and lifted the gun. Slowly. Let it caress his throat on the way up, enjoying the sensation; enjoying the icy touch. He placed a kiss on the muzzle when it moved over his lips. The faint scent of gun oil tickled his nose, not unpleasant, but not pleasant either, just present. He had smelled it on Klaus's hands before, mixed with his very masculinity. A heady mixture indeed.

He parted his lips, slowly taking in the pipe, but the taste of the gun oil was not at all as pleasant as the smell of the same, so he decided on a different course. The circle of the muzzle seemed to settle into the hollow of his temple, coming to a stop of its own accord, as if it knew just where it belonged.

When he pulled the trigger, there would be blood all over the wall.

All over his clothes too.

And brain substance.

And he'd be dead.

Gone from the world.

Non-existing.

Would never laugh again.

Never enjoy a brilliant sunset.

Never see a new work of art.

Never touch a lover.

Never steal again.

Just nothing - forever.

His hand began to shake as the enormity of his decision bore down. As if from afar he noted that his breath had quickened, become laboured.

Never take another breath again.

Nothing.

Never.

Ever.

Again.

His entire arm shook and his gut twisted in violent protest.

No.

The decision was even less than a conscious thought, just an instinctive pushing the gun away and shaking it lose from his finger, like shaking off a suddenly seen spider. Klaus's Magnum fell to the floor with a hard, metallic clang but - thankfully - didn't fire on impact.

"Idiot! What did you do that for! Idiot! I'll flog you alive! Now cut me lose, you bastard son of a flea-ridden monkey and an arse-humping Brit!"

As if in a daze, Dorian looked towards the bed, where Klaus was now all but growling at him. His eyes glittered with as much fury again as they had during the beginning of their night. Still feeling disconnected from the rest of the world, Dorian collected the bag he had brought along and the small knife he had used to cut the sturdy ropes in suitable lengths. Now it cut them again, but this time to free their captive.

Once Klaus's right hand was lose he grabbed the knife and set to work on his left.

Dorian realised he was crying. Had he been doing that for some time already? He saw Klaus move, but through a film of tears that lingered much too long before finally falling, scorching his cheeks on their way down.

"For fuck's sake, stop that bawling! You're not a two-year-old! If anyone should be- Oh, just stop it!"

Klaus sounded so _angry_! Of course, he did have all reason to be angry, Dorian knew that. He wiped away his tears, so he would be able to see. Would Klaus beat him up, now? Or just kill him?

Klaus efficiently covered his lovely body with clothes, no longer staring at him. Dorian watched the reverse striptease until at last the tie was pushed firmly in place and the shoulder holster adjusted. The still empty shoulder holster, as Klaus only then bent to retrieve his gun. He looked it over carefully, glancing accusingly at Dorian as he brushed part of the pipe with his fingers, looking for the world as if he petted the weapon, though in likelihood wiping away some dust or lint.

"You said that it would be worth your life to have me," Klaus said, his voice strangely loud - no, more like intense - penetrating. As if Dorian heard it not just with his ears, but with his entire being. "But in the end, you didn't pull the trigger."

Dorian made a helpless gesture, unable to formulate his emotions. No, he hadn't. It wasn't that having Klaus hadn't been worth his life, it was just ... he hadn't been able to pay the price.

"You're a thief. I expected nothing more." Then Klaus took half a step forward and leaned in. "Idiot. If it really had been worth your life - if you had been honest about that, if about nothing else in your miserable existence - I would have accepted that." Then he stepped back again. "If you had pulled that fucking trigger ... we'd be kissing now."

He took one more step back, then lifted the Magnum, aiming at Dorian's chest casually as if pointing out a speck of lint on his shirt. The muzzle which Dorian so recently had kissed now looked black and forbidding, ready to spit death at him. Beyond he saw the sight and the bead, perfectly aligned, but slanted to the side as if Klaus wanted a less obstructed view of his target.

"Bang," Klaus said - and Dorian saw him squeeze the trigger, heard the trigger fall - at least that was what he thought he heard, as the real bang of the gun never came. There was a muffled grunt, a flare of light - but certainly no blood and death.

Dorian stared at his chest - unable to understand what had just happened. Could Klaus have _missed_? No, that was impossible!

Klaus snorted. "You don't seriously think I'd let myself be kidnapped by you and leave sharp ammo in the gun? Considering how incompetent you are with fire arms? Fuck knows what damage you'd manage to do."

Dorian had turned towards the other man, but still, the words only slowly started to make some sort of sense. Before he had time to really work them through, though, Klaus stepped closer once more and put a hand on Dorian's cheek in a manner that almost felt tender. The intense, green eyes looked so deeply into his that he thought he could see his own soul reflected in their cool depths.

This time, the last time, when Klaus spoke, his voice was low. Intimate. Sincere. "You blew it. I'll never give you another chance. The next time I see you the gun won't be loaded with blanks. That day, you die."

He patted Dorian's cheek, just once. Then he holstered the Magnum, grabbed his jacket from the chair, shrugged it over his shoulders, and left.

THE END


End file.
